Self Rediscovery
by QueenOfBeasts
Summary: Marty's life isn't normal, or even very pleasant, but she doesn't let it stop her. She has a skinny wimp of a best friend, a disabled pseudo brother, a no-nonsense caseworker, and not much else. Until Mr. Smith shows up and throws her life completely off course. He claims he knows what it's like for her, but how can anyone understand her when they've never heard The Drums?
1. Chapter 1

**(NOTE: I'm updating this story, as I plan on picking it up again (in addition to all my other shit. Yay!). The most noticeable differences will be that the chapter titles will no longer be from songs and lyrics will no longer proceed the text. I'm finding it too difficult to pick the songs _and_ write the story. I hope people will pick this up again after my long hiatus on this, and that they'll find it even better than before. So, enjoy, my lovelies! :D)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any characters or themes associated with it. That belongs to the BBC and the Almighty Moff. I DO however own any and all unfamiliar characters. Except one. You'll figure out who it is! ;)**

**ON WITH ZE SHOW! :D**

* * *

Another day in the life of a nobody. A nobody that everyone hates. Isn't that fun? Everyone despises the Emo chick because she's Emo. Except I'm not Emo, or Goth, or any other label. I'm just me; just Marty. But no one in this hellhole really gives a crap about Marty, now do they? No. They just care about teasing the foster kid, then running away before I get too pissed off. There are few people on Earth that respect me as a human being. The only ones I can think of on the spot are my caseworker Pauline and –

"Hey Fish Face!"

I sigh in exasperation. I can't even get one day off, can I? First day back after Spring Break and I'm right back where I left off.

I turn the corner to find the source of the disruption of the morning bustle. Pinned to a locker is a guy; tall and skinny with a shock of brown hair and coke bottle glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His brown eyes catch my own as I stare passively at the scene unfolding before me.

This is Nemo Hudson. Nemo is the only human being whose company I actually _enjoy_. He's a near genius by the standards of the New Jersey public school system, and perfect douchebag bait by extension. He's a meek kid, but he's the only friend I've got.

He vaguely reminds me of someone, but of whom I could never figure out.

The monster trying to choke the life out of poor Nemo is stereotypical jock, Hawk Stevens. His real name is something like Harold or an equally dorky variation, but he declared his name Hawk when he was very young and no one's questioned him since. Nemo and I call him Terrorbird. Terrorbird is the captain of the school wrestling team and the guy every girl from freshman to senior year wants to be hanging off of. Personally, I think he's a huge asshole.

The current scenario is a common one. Terrorbird harasses Nemo, Nemo tries in vain to defend himself, Terrorbird tries to break some part of Nemo's body, and I intervene. I never wanted to be a confrontational person, but it was never really my choice. It's only instinct.

Instinct tells me that seeing someone I care about hurt ought to make me angry.

Anger leads to rage.

Rage leads to The Drums.

_Rat-a-tat-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat._

And The Drums make me violent.

I stalk over to Terrorbird, fists clenched and positive by the way the other students part for me that my eyes have changed from their normal dull brown to a murderous red.

"Hawk." It's not a question, or an exclamation, or a statement. It is a threat, and one I will _always_ make good on. He turns his testosterone-fueled scorn on me, and sneers.

"Well if it isn't the Martiac." He jeers, his voice is sickly sweet.

"Leave him alone, Hawk." Mine is pure, biting venom.

_Rat-a-tat-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat._

By now a crowd has formed around us. Nemo's eyes are wide with fear, appearing almost comically huge behind his specs. If it's fear for himself, me, or both of us, I'm not sure, and I really don't care at the moment.

Terrorbird's grin is disgusting on his smug face. "What you gonna do about it, Martiac?" He taunts. I want so badly to punch him right then. I pull my arm back to do just that when I hear a soft voice call to me.

"Marty, please don't." Nemo murmurs softly. My gaze shifts to him for a split second; he had to know that I don't want to do this, that this isn't me. But The Drums are _hurting_ me. Whether they want me to keep Nemo safe or beat Terrorbird to a pulp, I don't know. But if putting a dent in the smug bastard's face makes them let up, I'll do it.

These sorts of things are never my choice.

Meanwhile, Terrorbird has come to the conclusion that I'd given up. He punches Nemo in the shoulder and watches him slump to the ground, laughing with his retarded buddies about wimpy little girls protecting their equally puny boyfriends. When he turns back to snigger at me, I land a precise, devastating blow to his nose.

All sounds fade out. The satisfying crack of bone. The agonized screech of the Terrorbird. The booming shouts of teachers trying to break up the fight. I hear nothing, see nothing. All I can hear are The Drums slowly decreasing their volume in my ears, and all I can see is Nemo looking up at me in fear and gratitude.

I hate getting like this infront of him. It always makes him look at me like I am some sort of vengeful goddess. Beautiful and terrible all at once.

I grab his arm and haul him to his feet. He dusts off his thin frame and rubs his raw shoulder.

"You alright?" I ask. My voice is even, but he knows me well enough to know I'm concerned.

"I'm good. You?"

"I'm good."

We leave the scene of the crime, walking side by side to the main office so I can turn myself in. Nemo takes a detention despite being the victim in the situation, which I was grateful for.

Either Nemo Hudson is the best friend I could possibly ask for, or he is a massive wimp.

I could really care less.

* * *

**I love Nemo. He's so... meek. Best word I can come up with to describe him. And you all have NO idea how fun it was to write "screech of the Terrorbird"! XD**

**I'm sure you all know the true nature of Marty's identity by now, and if you don't, WHY ARE YOU IN THIS FANDOM?**

**I have several more chapters written up, but I can't guarantee routine updates. I'm never good at remembering when to update, so bear with me!**

**DFTBA**


	2. Chapter 2

**Aaaannnndddd NEW CHAPTER! **

**Enjoy, lovelies! :D**

* * *

After a scolding from the vice principle and receiving our detention slips, we hurry off down the hall to avoid missing first period. Our homeroom teacher _was_ Mr. Patel, but he moved back to India over the break.

We had been informed that our new homeroom teacher was a Mr. Smith. I can't say I expect much of him, and his name is nothing to go on. The only thing that could make it more common was if his first name was John. Nemo tells me he caught a glimpse of Mr. Smith that morning as he was getting off the bus. All he saw was a tweed jacket, but that's enough for me to make assumptions. He's probably one of those "elderly professor" types, which I can't say I'm not too thrilled about. We finally have arrived at our first period class, which, incidentally, is world history in homeroom. Time to meet this Mr. Smith.

Nemo and I stroll in as casually as we can, expecting to be on the receiving end of some nasty looks. Some of Terrorbird's retard buddies glare at me, but the rest of the class is paying rapt attention to the front of the room. Rifling through the closet is a man, who I assume is Mr. Smith. Nemo had been right; he's wearing a hideous tweed jacket, what appears to be a pair of black skinny jeans, and heavy looking leather boots. His back is to us, so I can't see what his front looks like, let alone his face. Actually, I can't even see his head. The door of the top cabinet is obscuring my view of him. However, being the perceptive person I am, I've already noticed how many of my peers are staring at him. More specifically, how my _female_ peers are staring at him.

I clear my throat to catch his attention, and he immediately spins around on his heels.

"Ah!" he exclaims, a huge smile lighting up his face. "You must be Martina and Nemo! Come take a seat!"

Well. This is surprising. He's young; can't be more than 30. If I'm honest, he's rather attractive, which explains the goo-goo eyes he's getting from the girls. He has ridiculous floppy brown hair that seems to keep falling in his face, and happy green eyes. And a hell of chin. But the one thing that sticks out to me throughout my assessment of him is the fact that he's wearing a bright red _bowtie_. And I simply _can't_ forget the matching suspenders. And the pink dress shirt. On the whole, this Mr. Smith is a strange fellow indeed.

And just to add to his strangeness, he's English.

Whoop-dee-freaking-do. I get to listen to _that_ chipper accent all day.

We sit down at the two desks right infront of the whiteboard. I hate sitting here; these desks are reserved for Teacher's Pets, which I certainly am not. But, when everyone hates you, it can be a blessing to be where there is always a witness.

Smith leans back on his desk, massive, childlike grin still in place. "So!" he says, clapping his hands together. "Now that everyone's here I thought we might try to get to know each other a bit. You can catch up on your studies tomorrow. Today is a "meet n' greet", if you will. Who wants to start?" Several hands shoot up, all of them dainty and manicured. He calls on some nondescript Jane Doe who proceeds to bat her lashes at him and tell him her likes, dislikes, and hobbies. This goes on for a while, Smith even managing to cajole the guys into his game, before the only people that are left are Nemo and I.

Smith beams at Nemo, obviously excited by what he has to share, even though that's the last thing he wants to do. For a moment, I think I see Smith's eyes glaze over in what looks like nostalgia, but it's gone before I can properly identify it. Nemo trembles in his chair, reminding me very much of Piglet from _Winnie the Pooh_.

At this point, I can tell Smith knows he's not going to get anything out of Nemo of his own free will, so he makes an attempt to persuade him. "Come on, Nemo," he says gently, clearly sensing his shyness. "Pretend we're the only ones here. Tell _me_ something about yourself, not the class. Can you do that for me? How about your name; that's quite intriguing! How did you get your name, Nemo Hudson?"

I can see the internal battle going on inside my friend, and I want to help him, but I know I can't. Nemo has always hated strangers; while he is normally a bit shy, he is painfully so around people he doesn't know. Maybe that's why we get along so well. Neither of us are people people. The difference between us is that unlike myself, he actually tries to be social, though 90% of the time fails horribly.

Nemo takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his spiky hair, an action that I knew calmed him, but unsettled me for some unknown reason. He begins speaking in a tone that made sure only Smith and the people sitting immediately next to him could hear. Meaning only me.

"My parents met at a book club for _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_, and were adamant that their first child be named after the submarine captain." He says quietly. "Why they couldn't just give me a normal name like my brother's remains a mystery to me."

Smith laughs at his admission, causing Nemo to shrink in his seat. Then Smith lays a hand on his shoulder, and I can see his eyes shining with kindness. Nemo smiles up at him timidly, and I can tell he's found his new favorite teacher.

To my dread, Smith moves over to my desk. I can hear the murmurs and giggles of the class, and I just know they're planning to use the information I give to mock and tease me before the day is out. There's only five minutes left in class, so maybe if I could stall long enough…

"Best for last, eh?" I hear Smith say over my scheming. "So Martina, what is there to know about you? There wasn't a surname on the attendance sheet. Mind telling me about that?"

Damn him. Now he's gone and opened a can of worms the size of Alaska and I have to clean it up. Or make a bigger mess. Whichever The Drums will allow, really.

I can hear snickering in the background, and Retard 1 whispering "She doesn't have one 'cause her parents hated her!" to Retard 2. Apparently it was loud enough to not only be noticed by me, but by Smith as well, if his entire body tensing up like that is any indicator. He turns around and stalks over to the Retards, like a panther on the hunt. The entire room is so silent I can hear the panicked breathing of the Retards as they cower before the unfiltered anger in Smith's eyes. I'm starting to think this guy has a serious case of bi-polar, because I have never seen _anyone_ flip their mood on a dime like that. The man that I had judged as goofy, happy, and an overall easy A, had transformed into a being of rage and danger in the span of a millisecond. And he didn't even know me.

But in that moment, I felt as I knew _him_. As If this rage was nothing new, that I'd seen him this way before; as if I'd seen him before _at all_. The familiarity with which I was now regarding him shook me to the core, and for the first time in a long while, I felt scared.

Smith now hovered menacingly over the Retards, a green fire blazing in his eyes. "Who are you to judge her?" he asked them quietly, calmly, but with an underlying rage. "Who are you to mock her because she is _different_? Surely you have differences, don't you Sean? Things you keep hidden so they don't mess with you perfect highschool image?" His words were cutting and sharp. He wielded them like a knight would a sword; they were his weapons of choice. The fact that this didn't surprise me made me want to vomit.

Smith turned from them, and his eyes locked on mine for the briefest of moments, a moment in which I completely froze. I _knew_ him. But I didn't. This was all so confusing –

And then the bell rang.

Students were tripping over one and other, desperate to get to the door and out of this madman's classroom. After what felt like an eternity, but what my watch said was only 45 seconds, Nemo and I were the only ones left in the room. Smith gazed over at us, a grim smile tugging at his lips, and he looked so _old_. He said something, then, but I didn't hear him.

The Drums were deafening.

* * *

**And enter the Doctor, stage left! I appologize if he seems OOC at the end there, but I have a reason for it, which will be explained in a later chapter. **

**Also, a bit of the book geek I am managed to slip into this... Damn, I love Jules Verne...**

**Reviews are the only income I get!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter 3, finally, and I'm sorry to say it is pretty much the definition of a filler chapter. Definately the shortest chapter thus far. Therefore, I will gift to thee an extra chapter, which is far longer and more interesting than this!**

**Have at it, kiddies! :D**

* * *

I sulked into the detention room, Nemo at my side. He seemed convinced that if he just stared at his sneakers the whole time, he'd come out unscathed and punishment free. I knew that wouldn't be the case; his parents cared too much. They loved him and supported him and fretted over him. Their biggest worry, I knew, was me. They strongly disliked me. Not hated, never hated, because Jesus said you should love everyone, and if the Hudsons were one thing, they were good Christians. Nemo had confided in me that he never really cared for religion. Yeah, he believed in God and Jesus dying for our sins, or whatever, but he didn't make a huge deal out of it like his parents did. Combine their strong religious faith with the fact that I'm an atheist, and they're convinced I'm a bad influence on their son. Not that either of us care.

We both slid into seats in the middle of the room, immediately starting a countdown for when this so-called penance ended.

Two hours.

For those two hours we sneak glances at each other, silently communicating through body language and facial expressions. We have both become quite apt at it, having had to deal with similar situations around every three weeks since middle school. He points out that the faceless teacher-drone's toupee is coming off, and I smirk. I subtly gesture to the couple at the back of the room having eye sex with each other, and he blushes, but his eyes are shining with amusement. We keep up this game of comical Ispy until teacher-drone stands and dismisses us.

We exit the room and stroll down the hallway, snickering to ourselves about any ridiculous things we can think of, and eventually find ourselves in the main office.

And to my surprise, I spot Pauline talking with Mr. Smith.

I've mentioned Pauline, haven't I? She's my caseworker, and the only real parental figure I've ever had in my active memory. She's one of those short, stout, middle-aged women with slightly grayed hair down to their shoulders and reading glasses. Pauline Hernandez had been taking care of me for so long, that I can almost always sense her moods, even though more often then not she wears a neutral expression. As she converses with Smith I can see her eyes sparkling as she nods her head at something he says. They're speaking in hushed tones and I can't hear what they're saying, but I can only imagine he's inquiring about my "situation".

I cough to get their attention, causing Smith to turn and see me, Nemo shuffling awkwardly at my side. He smiles and waves, a happy child for all the world, and it's hard to believe this is the man with the raging storm in his eyes. He bids Pauline farewell, and spares a final glance at me. For some reason it makes me shiver in a way I can't identify.

I vaguely hear Pauline offering Nemo a ride home, but my mind is in a haze, and The Drums are insistent. I trail behind in a dreamlike state as Pauline leads us to her car, and we climb in the backseat. It feels like less than a second and several eons all at once when Nemo gets out, calling his routine "Later, Marty" over his shoulder and hurrying inside.

By the time we arrive at the group home, where only a few other kids and me live, I am completely exhausted and I don't know why. I stumble up to my room and I'm not sure if I closed the door gently or slammed it, and I can't bring myself to care. Collapsing on my bed, the world fades to black.

**Did you know I'm half Review Goblin? This means that in order to have homeostasis in my body, I require lots and lots of reviews! XD**


	4. Chapter 4

**And here's another chapter, just like I promised! :)**

**As a mentioned in the previous author's note, this one is much longer than the last, and will answer some questions regarding the Doctor's curious behavior, as well as his background. There are also allusions to Doctor/River, and a smattering of Amy/Rory in this chapter, so have fun with that!**

**On a side note, I'd like to say now that I write the bullying scenes in this story from experience. I was bullied quite a lot when I was young. The way I write bullying experiences for Marty, Nemo, and the Doctor are based around some of the methods that I've experienced. So just a message to the world: Bullying is WRONG. Teasing friends is one thing, but tearing a person down with words, intimidation, and even violence, can scar a person for life. Personally, it took me years to overcome my self-esteem issues that resulted from it; years, and a helluva lot of meds. **

**On that note depressing note, dig in! :D**

* * *

Exhausted, the Doctor unlocks the door to the flat he is currently sharing with the Ponds. He hates this, being stranded here. It wasn't as if the TARDIS was broken or sick. She just… wouldn't let him in. She refused to open her doors to him; not with a snap of his fingers or even his long unneeded key. And she was keeping River out too, which shocked him quite a bit. She absolutely adored River, Her impossible daughter, and yet simply _would not_ have her stepping inside. She would, however, allow Amy and Rory to enter, but only if they were alone. He concluded that She let them in because they didn't know how to fly her. He had tried instructing them on how to pilot the TARDIS from the outside via mobile phone, but the Old Girl would have none of it. She had put up a psychic field to deter all non-telepathic life forms. Unfortunately, humans fell into that category.

So here they were, stuck in 2017 in bloody _New Jersey_ of all places. He had always said doing domestic wasn't his thing, and this little experiment just proved it. Only two weeks after being stranded and he was already starting to lose it. Luckily, he had the Ponds to keep him sane, and his wife to keep him occupied.

And _no_, not like that!

As a matter of fact, River had found a job rather easily, considering her very real credentials and experience. She commuted into Manhattan everyday to work as an archivist at the Natural History Museum. Not the most glamorous job, she'd told them, but she was working her way up the ranks.

Amy had decided that since they wouldn't be here too long (or so they hoped), she would find a much simpler way to put bread on the table. In her case, literally. She had found a job working as a waitress at a local diner. She enjoyed it there; the people were nice and the pay was decent for wait staff. She would often come home with a doggy bag for each of them.

It was harder for him and Rory. Ever the nurse, Rory wanted a position in the medical profession, no matter how temporary it was. He personally just wanted something that wouldn't bore him out of his skull.

And that's how they ended up at the township highschool.

They had been in need of, coincidentally, a history teacher and a nurse, and so he and Mr. Pond had taken up the positions.

(Though if he was honest with himself, which he usually wasn't, he didn't believe in coincidence.)

And that's how he ended up here, sprawled on the sofa, hand over his eyes, desperately willing the TARDIS to open up through their telepathic link. She mentally snorts and turns away. Women.

Rory is flopped down next to him. They hadn't said a word to each other since they got off the bus.

(Pause for a moment and think how wrong that sounds. The Doctor. On a _public bus_.)

Rory, obviously put off by the awkward silence, asks him how his day was.

"Oh," he sighs. "Brilliant."

"You don't sound too enthusiastic." Rory comments.

"Well, I was at first," he tries to explain, glancing over at his male companion. "But it sort of just… went in a bad direction."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning it brought up some not necessarily pleasant memories."

"Oh." Is all Rory replies with. Good ol' Rory, knowing when not to push him. If only Amy could get the hang of that.

His friend sits up then and looks over at him. "I'm gonna go visit Amy at the diner. You wanna come?" He asks.

The Doctor plasters a forced smile on his face. "No, no, I'm good," he insists. "Tell Pond I said 'hello', though."

"Yeah, alright." Rory responds, nodding his head.

"Good man!" The Doctor praises him, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now off you go! Wouldn't want to keep Amy waiting, what with her being… Amy, and all." Rory winces at that, and quickly pulls on his jacket and heads out the door.

Now he's alone again. He knows that whenever Rory goes to "visit" Amy at work, he would end up being persuaded to volunteer as a busboy and both wouldn't get home until very late. River usually got home around 7:30, and it was currently… he checks his watch… 4:52. He could plan a date night for them? She always likes getting dressed up. On the other hand, he never knows how work had gone for her that day and he didn't want to push her if she was in a mood. Besides, she wouldn't be home for three and a half hours, and that was a lot of time to kill, when one is without a time machine.

Perhaps he shouldn't be trying to distract himself from what is really bothering him any longer. That girl in his homeroom, Martina, had struck a nerve with him. Her situation was far from foreign to him, as he had experienced similar teasing when he was at the Academy. Granted, it was for different reasons, and naturally the method of bullying was different, what with him growing up in a completely different society, but the basis was the same.

Reticule based on background.

_Strolling through the Academy courtyard as confidently as he could, he could hear the whispered murmurs of disgust and disapproval. The other children would sneak glances at him, and gesture rudely at him to their friends. The bolder children would insult him to his face. He had hoped today would be his lucky day and that he'd get through his classes scot-free. But it was clearly not to be, if he were to judge by the menacing stance of one of those bolder children as he walked by. _

_Even as he was being glowered at he refused to submit. Mother had told him never to give into bullies, never give them the satisfaction, and above all he wanted to make his mother proud. For both of them._

_"What are you still doing here, half-breed scum!" The older boy taunted. "Shouldn't you have run back to your ape mummy by and now and pleaded with her to take you back to all the other stupid apes?"_

_"I should be delighted to dissect you." One of the girls in his age group said in a detached, clinical tone. Ushas, he thought her name was._

_His fists clench in righteous anger._

'Mustn't react. Mustn't react'_, he chanted silently to himself. _'Don't let them win!'

_"Hah! The boy laughed. "His brain's so small, he probably doesn't even understand what we're saying!" The other children in his posse giggled and snorted, and he clenched his fists tighter, now starting to feel blood trickling from his palms._

_"I know what you're saying." He bit out. "And I'm not stupid"_

_"Hey, look!" One of the other boys exclaimed, jabbing the first boy in the side. "The half-breed can speak!"_

_That stung. He knew that they knew that humans were intelligent enough for sentience, and yet they accuse his mother's species of not being capable of coherent thought? No, that more than stung. It _burned.

_He pulled back his fist to throw a punch at the jerk who had been his main antagonist, but just as he was about to break the smug little prick's nose, he felt a hand clasp around his wrist. He looked over his shoulder to see a mop of black hair and worried blue eyes._

_"Don't do that, Theta." Koshchei intoned firmly. Then his gaze shifted to the older boy who had been teasing his friend. "He is not worthy of your ire."_

_Theta felt his senses come back to him then. He took a deep breath, and gave Koshchei a shy smile, which the other boy returned with a much larger one; one free of scorn or inhibitions._

_Koshchei led him away from the crowd that had gathered, unashamed and full of the prideful arrogance that was so characteristic of the Gallifreyan upper class. Theta had always admired that aspect of his friend's personality; his ability to be so unconcerned with what other people thought. This attribute was probably the only reason Koshchei hung around Theta. That, and his ever-contrary nature._

_But even with the confidence that walking with Koshchei instilled in him, Theta still bristled at the final cruel comment the nasty boy made to his friends._

_"Violence. Such a primitive way of handling situations, wouldn't you agree?"_

_Everyone had._

Yes, he knew what Martina was going through. He recalled in vivid detail every time one of his peers had called him 'half-breed', and the scorching fury he felt towards them when they called his mother a 'disgusting ape' to his face. But he was also reminded of how loyal to him Koshchei was throughout their childhood, and then he questioned why it couldn't have stayed that way.

The Drums were the answer. If they hadn't driven the Master to insanity, perhaps things could have stayed the same. He could have even managed to save him.

The Doctor shook his head. That was all in the past now. The Master was gone, sealed away in the Time Lock, forever. And though it still pained him to know he hadn't been able to save his dearest and oldest friend, he had long ago made his peace with it.

Though that also brought to mind thoughts of Martina's quirky male companion, Nemo Hudson. Nemo's appearance had rather shocked him at first, but he had soon begun to feel the beginnings of nostalgia burning in his chest. It was striking how close of a resemblance the boy had to his previous incarnation. It was also quite odd to see their contrasting personalities. His tenth self being loud, daring, dangerous, rather charming, and a bit rude-and-not-ginger. Nemo, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Shy, quiet, timid, rather geeky, and a bit reliant-but-doesn't-want-to-admit-it on Martina.

He's a good kid, the Doctor thinks, and perhaps he can be a side project of his. He'll certainly be seeing a lot more of him, in addition to Martina.

Because not only was the Doctor their teacher, but he had also volunteered to foster Martina.

River was going to kill him. Again.

**So... I think I got some 'splainin' to do.**

**The flashback to the Doctor's childhood is heavy on headcanon, as, as you should all know, not much is known of his early years on Gallifrey. **

**Another thing is that, unlike many fan writers (and even sometimes the show's writers), I decided NOT to ignore what is obviously canon: The Doctor's mother was human. In the TV movie, Eight clearly says "I'm half human, on my mother's side." So what do I do with that knowledge? I shove it in here! In my headcanon, the Doctor had a fairly stable home life, but outside of that, it was hell. His parents loved him, and told him to be strong, but kids are cruel, as well as fragile. **

**As for the kids bullying him, can you guess who I used? It is fairly obvious if you pay attention to the old series and fanon. I'll tell you that the character I used is "dissection girl". Virtual chocolate cake to those who guess correctly! :D**

**Reviews stoke the fires of my creativity!**


	5. Chapter 5

**MY MUSE HAS RETURNED! Sort of. I'm still in the process of getting my ideas back together, so it'll take some time. Plus, I'm also still working on _Seeing Different Stars_ and my various Tabatha Tyler stories (hoping to get a new one up soon!), as well as school projects and extracurricular things. I'm a busy gal, it seems. But, I am going to actively try to work on this, so look forward to more of this.**

**Go crazy, you damn psychos! :D**

* * *

Someone's nudging me. Why? Can't I just wallow in self-pity and confusion for a _few_ minutes. Judging by the insistence with which I'm being poked, there's only one person it could be. I crack an eye open to be met with curious brown eyes and a slightly chubby face.

"Hey Hank." Seeing that he has successfully woken me, the kid backs away, and scratches his nose, a weird habit of his. Henry, known to all the world as Hank, is the youngest kid in the group home, and, to be quite honest, adorable. At first glance, it seems a bit shocking that he hasn't been adopted yet, what with his dark unruly curls and beaming gap-toothed smile. But then he backs away from the table he's sitting at, and you see his chair. Potential parents usually shy away from a kid when they find out he doesn't have legs and has suffered brain damage.

Hank was five years old when he and his parents got into a car accident, killing both of them, and leaving him severely injured. The doctors couldn't save his legs and they had to amputate. And to deal another blow to this poor kid's now lonely and singular existence, he had suffered damage to his Temporal Lobe, leaving him completely deaf.

That was three years ago, and now Hank can read lips flawlessly and is near fluent in American Sign Language, as am I. We have whole conversations about nothing and everything without saying a word, which I think is pretty cool. I even have my own name in Sign. Put the pointer and middle finger of both your hands together, and tap them to each other four times. But even though he's the one who came up with it, Hank never calls me that. When he wants to address me, he takes his left hand and put it on top of his right, making hand guns on both. That's ASL for 'sister'. And that's why Hank isn't on my "people-I-actually-like-and-not-only-tolerate" list. He's more than a person to me – he's the only family I can ever remember having. When I turn eighteen, the first thing I'm going to do is get a place to live. Then I'm going to get a job. Then I'm going to become Hank's legal guardian. Two more years until that happens, but I can wait.

Right here, right now, Hank is holding our old, worn-out, fold-up chessboard in his lap, ready for our ritualistic afternoon match. I take the board from him and set it on my bed, then I walk over to my desk to clear it of its contents, and dump that on the bed as well. I pull the desk away from the wall, grab up the chessboard, and begin to set it up.

"Black or white?" I ask him, looking up so I can see his answering sign.

"_White."_

Moments later, we're playing at a steady pace and Hank has just capture one of my knights with a pawn. He glares at me after he sets his piece down.

"What?"

"_Don't go easy on my because I'm a kid._" He signs at me, a deadpan look on his face. He's finally caught on after all these years!

"_Suit yourself._" I gesture back.

It is _on_.

A half-hour later I have his king cornered. It would have taken half that time if he didn't take so long to make a move.

"_Check. Mate._" I sign triumphantly, throwing my arms out in the universal gesture of "come at me bro". He glowers at his fallen king, at the mercy of the enemy army, all his men dead excluding two lowly pawns.

"_I take it back,_" he signs "_Go easy on me. Please._"

"You asked for it, short stuff!" I tease happily, in one of my rare moments of _just letting go_. I only ever let myself feel relaxed around Hank. Yeah, I enjoy Nemo's company, and we have fun together, but I always have to be on guard around him; always have to make sure there's no one going to beat him up standing just around the corner. Even when he comes to visit me at the home I feel a bit tense. I've built up this tough, couldn't-give-a-damn persona, and to break it, even infront of Nemo and no one else… I can't do that. I just can't. I would if I could, but… The Drums. They tell me I can't, that I can't afford to get too close to anyone. Hank is Their exception, probably because he's still so young, still so innocent. Hank won't judge me like others will. Won't try to fix me like others will. Nemo would leave me if I failed to protect him from his tormentors, and to be completely honest, I'm afraid of that. Afraid he'll leave me high and dry and all on my own. If I wear a mask and put up a barrier around my heart, he won't leave.

That's what They tell me.

* * *

**And here we have the introduction of another character, Hank. He's such a cute kid in my mind - classic American Italian in appearance. He loves and looks up to Marty more than anyone else, since he doesn't remember much about his parents. Just as he is to her, she's the only family he has.**

**And as always, I'm going to whore myself out. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**


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